


The Tipping Point

by thingsKTsays



Series: Going Bhakti Basics [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Just the Tip, M/M, Porn With Plot, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsKTsays/pseuds/thingsKTsays
Summary: Patrick needsmore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It takes a village. Thanks to **T** and **M** for the invaluable beta service, and to **K** for cracking the whip.
> 
> For the usual crowd, with love, but especially to **Big Zed** \- hope it was worth the wait!

The season ends.

The season ends, and it’s too soon and long overdue and Patrick feels like he could skate a whole extra playoff series, feels like he couldn’t take another stride if his life depended on it. His body is trembling, stuck in a locker room in some city he doesn’t give a shit about except for how much he hates it right now, listening to the cheers of an arena full of people who had wanted to see him fail filter down through the walls.

They got what they wanted, Patrick guesses.

It’s going to be a long flight back to Chicago, but Jonny will be sitting beside him. It’ll have to be enough.

\--

Patrick goes for a walk, because he can’t stand to be in his apartment, in his head, alone, for one more minute. It’s warm out, the early May sun soft and too bright, the rain of April left behind, the heat of June still to come. He doesn’t bother with a jacket, just slips on his flip flops and starts walking, and he thinks it’s aimless at first, but his feet lead him to Jonny’s neighbourhood, then to Jonny’s front door.

He sits on the steps for a minute, staring at nothing, and just breathes before standing up, walking back down to the street. He’s over halfway home again, his mind flitting from one thought to the next, unable to settle on anything, when his phone buzzes. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and stares at the screen. It’s just a text from Jonny, a short _come over_ , and Patrick moves to the side of the walkway, his back leaning against the brick wall near the entrance of a cafe storefront and he stands still and just breathes. In, because this is exactly what he needs; out, because it’s still not enough. In, because his head is buzzing, and out, out, out, because his fingers are trembling and it’s anticipation and fear and _yearning_.

He types in the passcode and his fingers hover over the screen for another moment, but in the end, he simply sends back a simple _ok_ and retraces his steps to Jonny’s door.

He uses the key he’s had for ages, the one that clinks against his own apartment key every time he unlocks his door or starts his car, and he doesn’t bother to knock or call out. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He should be packing, booking his flight to Buffalo - something other than kicking off his flip flops in Jonny’s front hall, wandering through empty rooms, just because Jonny said _come_ and Patrick couldn’t do anything but follow. He paces the halls, climbs the stairs, and he’s not exactly looking for Jonny, but he’s not-not looking, either.

He wants to see Jonny, wants his steady presence, the way he settles something inside Patrick. He wants so much, all the time, and it’s - it’s almost overwhelming, how much he gets, how much Jonny gives him. The way Jonny will bend, and bend, and no matter how far Patrick pushes, he never breaks.

And maybe that’s not what Patrick wants, now. Maybe he doesn't want Jonny to break for him, maybe he needs the way Jonny can take everything that Patrick gives him and just ask for more. Patrick always has more to give Jonny.

So he’s not _looking_ for Jonny, but he’s - he just _wants_.

He stands in front of Jonny’s room, the door just slightly ajar, and he breathes. His fingers curl into fists, like he’s going to knock on the painted wood, but he relaxes them instead.

Inhales, wraps his fingers around the handle.

Exhales, pushes it open.

And there’s Jonny, naked and curled up by the edge of the bed, his knees under him and the long line of his back on display. Patrick can see the bruise on his ribs from a nasty cross check, can see the way his ass is shiny and slick, the lube cast aside and his hands resting by his ankles. Jonny’s face twitches to the side, as though acknowledging Patrick, and Patrick’s head spins.

He thinks this might be a yoga thing, can hear the steady and rhythmic breathing Jonny falls into when he gets his zen on, but it also kind of looks like Jonny was jerking off, fingering himself open, and the slump of his shoulders makes it seem like he gave up halfway through.

The way Jonny’s fingers curl, still glistening with lube, tells Patrick that it hasn't been long since those fingers were in his ass, working himself over, getting in deep, and the thought - Patrick wants to see that, wants to see Jonny pushing back onto his own fingers, fucking himself the way he would when he’s alone.

And maybe Jonny gave up because he couldn't get deep enough, couldn't do it hard enough, couldn't find the right angle. His breath catches, because _Jonny can't fuck himself as good as Patrick can fuck him_ , and maybe he isn't the only one who needs more. Maybe Jonny texted him, come over _because I can’t do this alone_ , come over _because you make me feel **more**_ , come over _because I can’t breathe when you aren’t inside me_.

And maybe some of that’s just Patrick, just how Patrick feels, but at this point he has to believe he’s not in this alone. He can’t afford to.

Patrick stumbles into the room, his feet moving before he can even think about it, before he can tell them what to do, and then he’s standing right behind where Jonny’s ass backs up to the edge of the bed. He runs the back of a finger softly down the curve of Jonny’s ass, skirting the edge of the mess of lube near his hole, and Jonny shivers. He dances his fingers up the sole of Jonny’s foot, just to be a dick, just to see what Jonny will do, but his foot just makes an aborted twitch before he settles again, his breathing louder as he works to keep it steady.

Patrick wants to say something, feels like he should, but instead he picks up the lube, rolls it between his hands as he looks down at Jonny. He’s all bruises and trembling limbs, less muscular now than the last time they did this, and it makes him look small, makes him seem vulnerable.

Jonny’s hands flex at his sides, fingers twitching, and Patrick doesn’t think he means to, thinks it might be subconscious, instinctual - like Jonny wants to grab something, hold something, _move_ , and that feeling is warring with his self-control. His hands spasm and twitch, and the one covered in lube shines in the light, catches and holds Patrick’s gaze. He can't look away, still rolling the bottle of lube from hand to hand, and he stares at the way the light makes that one hand shine, slick and wet, imagines those fingers pumping inside of Jonny, filling him up, getting him almost to the edge but unable to get the job done - the wrong angle, wrong pressure, just _not enough_.

Patrick pops the cap open, the sound of it echoing through the room, and goes to squeeze some onto his fingers. He stops, though, because - because Jonny is still covered in it, slick and sloppy from where he had used his fingers to work himself open before he gave up and texted Patrick to come over.

Jonny's breaths are almost steady, almost hitting the slow and rhythmic cycle of inhale, exhale, inhale, that makes Patrick think of Jonny stretched out in front of him, of Jonny pushing back onto Patrick’s fingers, his mouth. They’re almost steady, but then Patrick reaches out, ghosts his fingers along the crease of Jonny’s ass, barely touching the skin, and Jonny gasps.

His fingers slip-slide across smooth skin that’s sloppy with lube, and Patrick lets the tip of one finger catch the rim, watches as a shudder races up Jonny’s spine, feels the way Jonny clenches around him. He pushes in, just a bit, just teasing, before pulling out and rubbing the pad of his finger against Jonny’s hole, down behind his balls, finding all the places that make Jonny gasp, the ones that make him moan, and push back.

Patrick is breathing heavy, in and out and in, his chest moving with the force of it, but Jonny is just as bad, has steadily been getting worse, and Patrick slides two fingers into him, just to the first knuckle. He pulls down, stretching Jonny just a bit more, and Patrick wants to pull his cock out right now, wants to rub the head against Jonny, precome and lube mixing until Patrick gets off, right on Jonny’s ass.

He pushes in deeper, fingers twisting, his other hand resting on Jonny’s lower back, and maybe he should do it. Jerk off with the head of his cock pushed against Jonny’s ass, but he doesn’t have to come _on_ Jonny’s ass; he could slip the head in, just the tip, and come with Jonny clenching around him. And maybe Jonny would be coming at the same time, the two of them in sync, their bodies mirroring each other as they shake and gasp through climax, muscles tensing and relaxing together.

Patrick’s fingers stroke in, curl, and Jonny _moans_ , his hands reaching back, grasping, fingers straining for something to hold on to, for Patrick.

Fuck but Patrick loves this. He can smell the faint scent of Jonny’s sweat, wants to drown in it, just breath in, out, in, until it consumes him. He wants to leave fingerprint bruises across Jonny’s hips, and trace his tongue over the dark marks the playoffs left along Jonny’s ribs, and he wants _inside_ , he wants _more_ and _always_ and -

“I gotta… Jonny, I need…” And he does, he realizes. Patrick _needs more_ and Jonny’s the only one who can give it to him, the only one he wants to take it from.

Patrick needs more than stolen moments and shared sweat. He needs more than he’s getting, at least a little bit more, just a bit more, to take the edge off.

And Jonny is shaking and gasping and opening up so beautifully under his attention, around his fingers, right before his eyes. Patrick needs more, and Jonny - Jonny’s gotta need more, can’t possibly be satisfied with just this, without pushing himself, them, to be better, to be _more_. But Jonny can’t push them, not with the way he’s positioned on the bed, not with Patrick being the catalyst, the force, so Patrick - Patrick has to be the one to push for more, for both of them.

He undoes his jeans one handed, but he needs two to push them down along with his boxers, needs two to take his shirt off, so he pulls back until he’s not touching Jonny at all. He steps back, pulling at his clothes until he’s naked, never taking his eyes of Jonny, devouring the sight spread out before him.

Patrick moves closer, until his hips are flush with Jonny’s ass, until he can feel the heat of Jonny’s skin spreading to his. He curls his fingers around Jonny’s hips, leaning over, chest to back and skin to skin, their breaths sharp and echoing, in and shallow, out and jagged. Patrick rests his forehead on the back of Jonny’s neck, slips his hands off of Jonny’s hips to wrap around his wrists instead.

He wants to pull them up, over Jonny’s head, until he’s stretched as far as he can go, spread out and nothing but long lines of muscles that Patrick has traced a thousand times with his eyes, fingers, tongue, but he tightens his grip instead, keeps them where they are. He can barely support himself, has little leverage, and Patrick’s core is already starting to burn. It hurts in the best way, and he can feel the blood pounding through his dick, can feel how hard he is, how his dick twitches whenever his core tenses, dragging along soft, soft skin, so close to where he wants to be.

So close to what he wants.

“Jonny,” he gasps, his breath wet against the skin of Jonny’s back, and his hands slip from Jonny’s wrists, slide down his palms, and then Jonny’s tangling their fingers together, grip strong but still trembling, and Patrick isn’t sure how much more he can take. Jonny’s always been able to get him so fucked up over so little.

“Pat… I – You’ve gotta give me more, I need – just a bit, just a bit more, please,” And Jonny’s voice is gasping, and wrecked, and Patrick can hear his deep voice, can feel the words reverberating in Jonny’s chest, and he can’t stop himself, doesn’t even want to try.

He shifts his hips, just a bit, just to angle them, and the head of his dick slips across slick skin, twitches at the feeling of ghosting across Jonny’s hole, open and so ready for him, waiting for Patrick to slip inside. He wants _so much_ , and it would be too much, should be too much, but Jonny wants it just as desperately, needs it, and they’re in this together.

His dick shifts and slides and catches against Jonny’s rim, and Patrick is panting, noises escaping him and joining the sounds coming from Jonny, a symphony of choked off gasps and shocked moans surrounding them, and Patrick - 

Patrick slides in, just a bit, just the tip, Jonny opening up so beautifully for him, Patrick _inside_ him and time -

Stops.

Jonny’s walls fold around him, suffocating and grounding and -

And -

It feels like stepping out onto fresh ice, like the smell of his childhood home, like kissing the goddamn Stanley Cup. Jonny, around him and beneath him, their fingers laced together, under his skin and inside him, inside - and Patrick can never push him out, can never imagine wanting to, wants to stay just like this for as long as he possibly can.

Because Jonny is inside of Patrick, has burrowed in so deep that Patrick can barely tell where he stops and Jonny starts. Patrick can barely breathe, and Jonny’s clenching around him, his muscles flexing rhythmically, inviting Patrick in deeper, deeper, but even just this amount is so much, too much, perfect.

It’s just the tip, but Patrick feels like he owns Jonny, like he is owned, like he will never be part of anything as intensely as he’s part of Jonny in this moment. His hips rock, the tiniest back and forth; in and out, _in_ and _out_ , pushing and pulling and dragging. His fingers are numb from how tightly Jonny is holding them, his lips dry from gasping.

He pulls back, tests how far he can go while still being a part of Jonny, then slides in, just an inch, then two, and part of him wants to keep going, inch after inch, until he and Jonny are flush against one another, until they stop being two separate people and start being one, but he holds off, holds himself back.

Because he doesn’t want _everything_ , not right now, not all at once, he just wants _more_ , and he’s getting it. He’s getting Jonny, spread open under him, taking him in. He’s getting Jonny, trembling and pulling their linked hands underneath him and curling around his cock together. He’s getting Jonny, moaning _Pat, Pat, Pat_ as though Patrick is the only thing left in his world, he’s getting Jonny, coming across the bed, pulling Patrick over the edge with him, he’s - 

He’s getting Jonny.

He has Jonny.

And that’s all he needs.


End file.
